


The One in the Closet

by sexyvanillatiger



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Closet Sex, Frottage, Halloween Costumes, M/M, Party Games, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-15
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-03-07 15:08:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3176603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sexyvanillatiger/pseuds/sexyvanillatiger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One dressed as a wolf, one dressed as a fox, seven minutes in heaven.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One in the Closet

**Author's Note:**

> This is a response to a prompt from around Halloween, hence the Halloween party. Yikes.
> 
> Cross-posted to my tumblr.

They meet at the party, near the bowl of not-spiked fruit punch, and they say hello. Later, they meet near the bowl of spiked fruit punch, and the one with the fox mask says he likes the one with the wolf mask's costume. The wolf returns the sentiment. The fox thanks him for not asking what the fox says. The wolf laughs and suggests they take to the den, where most party-goers are smoking a bowl and generally minding themselves. The fox sets his drink aside and follows.

It's a huge house, lived in by a girl dressed in white with a bone mask on. The skull of some animal. When the fox asked what it was, she gave him a Latin name.

The wolf takes a spot near the hearth, behind which a dying fire squeals at the corners of burnt-up wood in the fireplace. The fox sits above him. Asks the wolf how he knows the girl, and the wolf says they went to the same high school. The fox laughs and says that so did he. The wolf smiles and asks his name, but the fox tells him that that would be too easy. Isn't it fun, this mystery? _Aren't you enjoying not seeing my face?_ The fox leans forward and his orange shirt dips down. The wolf can see moles marring his clear skin. He licks his lips beneath the furry jowls of his mask.

The fox asks him about the circles he ran through in high school. The wolf mentions lacrosse, the pack, people that the fox wouldn't know. Except the fox does know some of them, and the wolf thinks he should know the fox. The fox slides down from the hearth, sitting beside him on the carpet, their shoulders touching, their thighs touching. The wolf is very solid, warm muscles like new brick beneath his dark jeans. The fox takes a deep breath and looks up at the wolf. The wolf is looking at his hands.

A ghost brings an empty glass bottle to them, and many creatures slow with smoke gather 'round. The closet is in the adjacent hallway. Someone has their phone timer out, their brightness on high, their timer set for seven minutes, glaring eagerly in the dimness. The fox and the wolf bristle at the thought of this game, this age-old rite, tongues wet and jaws tense. Too many turns pass before the wolf gets his. He spins the bottle precisely; it slows until it stops on the fox. A long trail of childish howling follows them to the closet.

The wolf wasn't sure if the fox would remove his mask. Doesn't think he would if the closet weren't so dark. But it is, and both of their masks fly over their heads, lips catching like barbed wire and braces, hot tongues on frozen metal, sticking. The wolf hauling the fox closer by the collar of his shirt, swinging himself from where the fox pushed against the wall to where he's the one doing the pushing, knee steady and firm between the fox's legs.

_Yes_ , says the fox. _What if_ , he starts haltingly. The wolf beckons him to continue. _What if I asked you to fuck me?_

The wolf rears back, but not far enough to break away. The fox moves and clothing rustles and the wolf realizes that he's undone his pants when the fox takes his hand and presses it to his front, hot and heavy through the thin cotton of his boxers; letting the other one travel back to where it can get the leverage to haul him closer.

_Yes, yes_ , moans the fox. The wolf doesn't know what to say. Takes the fox by the elbow and holds him still, crushing him back into the wall. Scrambles to divest, scrambles to line them up and dive in. The fox doesn't make any noise, lungs seeming to debate breathing in or breathing out. The wolf would stop if the fox's hips didn't say enough, pushing back into him, making a rhythm without waiting for the wolf's input.

The wolf takes control of it. Decides on something slower. The fox speaks then, pleading and begging and the wolf thinks he holds the control. He holds the fox by the back, hips rolling against him so slow it's stupid. The fox has little to give in the way of emotion; he turns to logic.

_Three minutes_ , he snaps, a cold reminder of their short time here. The wolf leans forward to bite his neck, fucking against him much harder and much faster. The fox pushes his underwear down and his shirt up to clear the way. The wolf wastes no time with bothering. A hurricane of breath passes between them, the fox seeming to drown before he comes, and he comes first, fist steady in the wolf's curls.

The fox pushes him away, sensitive, weak; the wolf is so much stronger. He turns the fox around and resumes the grip of his jaw on the fox’s neck, resumes his rutting pace at the fox’s back. The fox works with him, cooperating with these sensual pushes back against him, until he stumbles into his completion. The wolf only lets go, only releases the flesh from between his teeth when he comes, a low whine now filling the space in his mouth.

The wolf does the best clean-up he can. The fox is already clean. They both put their masks back on and step out of the closet eighteen seconds too early. The party-goers cry and debate making them go back in for another seven minutes as punishment, but the scandal dies quickly. Some people in the circle are lying on their sides, seeming asleep. The girl with the bone mask is carry pillows, tossing them into crowded areas. The fox and the wolf follow her until she sets them up at the end of a long hallway, one pillow and one comforter near one floor vent with warm air flowing through. They watch her and she watches back, until it becomes apparent that they're waiting for her to leave. She does, and somehow her absence affects them both. They are less graceful when they lie down beneath the blanket, where the wolf asks the fox if he can see his face.

_Why do you want to?_ the fox asks, but he's got his fingers beneath the fur. Pulling up. Moles dotting his face pleasantly. Warm brown eyes. Messy hair, probably from the mask. The wolf vaguely recognizes him.

"Stiles," the fox says. "I'm Stiles."

The wolf pulls his mask off, and Stiles smirks. "Scott McCall?"

Scott nods, lips quirked slightly upward, but his eyes dark and inquisitive.

"What?" Stiles asks.

Scott slides closer, rolls over him, their noses catching at the ends, their tongues radiating heat towards one another as they both lick their lips. Scott smiles cheekily, in this really endearing way that Stiles can't help but love, so when Scott asks, "What would you do if I asked you to fuck me?", all Stiles can do is answer him.


End file.
